Breaking Habits
by wilfred the pickle
Summary: Everyone's noticed that there's been something wrong with Edgeworth; they've known for a long time, so why wouldn't anyone try to help? Phoenix takes it upon himself to help the prosecutor, but soon realises that for some people, it's too late to be saved. Rated M for descriptions of self harm and coarse language, onesided NaruMitsu.
1. Wake-up Call

**IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR**

**This story will contain **_**graphic descriptions of self-harm**_**, which could **_**possibly be triggering**_**. **_**If this could be a trigger for you, stay away**_**. Take note that I am not at all squeamish and tend to write rather graphic descriptions of gore when I get carried away (which, unfortunately, is quite often) so if at any point it gets too graphic, leave **_**a review or send me a message telling me so **_**and I'll gladly edit it and tone it down for future chapters. **

**See end of chapter for more information. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The first time Phoenix _really _realised something was wrong was when Miles Edgeworth was late to court.

Never, ever had Edgeworth been late to court before, at least in Phoenix's experience. Wright himself was usually the late one, dragging Maya or Pearl-or Mia if the day was being generous-behind him. Edgeworth had been the prosecution for most of Phoenix's cases lately, by some small miracle. Maybe he wanted to prove he could win every once in a while. Maybe it was just a weird coincidence. The fact remained; Miles Edgeworth, son of the acclaimed Gregory Edgeworth, disciple of the infamous Manfred von Karma and formerly known by the moniker 'Demon Prosecutor'-was late for the first time anyone could ever recall.

Phoenix tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the defense bench and stared absently at the empty space usually filled by the prosecutor. Beside him, Maya looked over the evidence half-heartedly, glancing up at the courtroom doors every few seconds. At the front of the room, the Judge blinked and cleared his throat.

"Mr Wright?" he asked confusedly, following the defense's gaze to the empty prosecution bench. He looked over the notes on his desk. "Do you have any idea where Edgeworth is?"

Phoenix snapped out of his daydream and shook his head. "Sorry, Your Honour," he replied. "He's never been late to court before."

The judge blinked again and sighed. "Well, if he doesn't show up soon, then I guess he forfeits the trial, and your client goes free."

The gallery was in instant uproar, the audience chattering excitedly amongst themselves in the upper tiers. Amongst the hubbub, Maya turned to him and grinned.

"Wow. I guess Edgeworth decided to give up even before the trial began!" she exclaimed. Phoenix laughed along half-heartedly with her, but something still wasn't quite right about the situation. He should have been happy; if Edgeworth didn't show soon, his client (who was very obviously not guilty anyway) would be declared not guilty. His client looked at him from the defendant's stand, her eyes boring daggers into his. The message was clear; end the trial before Edgeworth could show up and ruin everything.

He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Honour, it's already twenty minutes past the hour...if Edgeworth doesn't arrive in a few minutes, I'd think it best that we-"

"_Save your breath, Wright_," came a familiar voice from the courtroom doors. In strode Miles Edgeworth, briefcase in one hand, evidence bag in the other. His cravat, Phoenix noticed absently, was nowhere to be found.

"Edgeworth!" the judge roared. "Where have you been!? You're twenty minutes late to court!"

"There was a problem at the office that required my attention." Classic Edgeworth-blunt, abrupt, and gave away nothing. The judge waited for more explanation, but none came. The prosecutor simply stood at the bench, stony-faced. Phoenix tried catching his eye, but he didn't give him as much as a glance.

"That's it?" Maya whispered to Phoenix. "He's twenty minutes late to court, then just walks in and expects everyone to drop everything and carry on?" As the crowd got wilder and wilder, she'd had to raise her voice to be heard over the gossip. Edgeworth heard her and glared daggers at the both of them. Phoenix and Maya both winced and hurriedly turned back to the judge, who was running a hand through what was left of his hair.

"You're lucky I don't hold you in contempt of court." He pounded his gavel, punctuating his sentence. "Very well. Are both the defense and the prosecution ready to begin?"

"The defense is ready, Your Honour," Phoenix replied, still watching Edgeworth out of the corner of his eye. He was gazing down at the desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. An arm snaked up and curled around his forearm, gripping his skin tightly. Phoenix frowned; the prosecutor's nails were practically biting into his skin. Didn't that hurt?

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honour," Edgeworth said. He was quieter than usual, and was still avoiding eye contact with anyone besides the bench. Phoenix noticed he had to stop himself from adding 'for a while' onto his sentence.

"I should hope so, after all that extra time you've had to prepare." The judge banged his gavel once more. "Now, Edgeworth. Perhaps the prosecution would like to present their opening statement before I die from old age?"

**- & & -  
**  
The trial was cleared up in only a day; as expected, his client was innocent. Yet another win for Phoenix, yet another loss for Edgeworth. Pearls had greeted him and Maya each with a giant bear hug, and even his client. The woman seemed a little surprised, but quickly returned the little girl's embrace, before shaking his hand and leaving to file her paperwork. Maya had left in search of a vending machine with Pearls, leaving Phoenix alone in the empty defense lobby. He checked his watch; it was only twelve o'clock. _Time to take a trip to the prosecutor's lounge._

Edgeworth was preparing to leave just as he arrived, checking his watch as he picked up his briefcase. He looked up as he heard footsteps coming toward him.

"I can't stay and chat," he said quietly, moving aside to leave.

"Woah, hold on!" Phoenix grabbed at his sleeve, trying to pull him back. Edgeworth wrenched his arm back furiously, gasping slightly.

"What the hell?! Get off!" he snarled, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Phoenix pleaded, touching his shoulder lightly. "Why were you late to court today?" He flinched when he felt the bluntness of his words. Edgeworth very obviously felt it too.

"Why does everyone want to know that?" he snapped, turning back around.

Phoenix shifted uncomfortably. "It's just...well, you've never been late before, and I just wondered if everything's okay-"

"Everything is fine." Edgeworth's eyes didn't meet his own. _Lie._

"Really?" Phoenix challenged quietly.

Edgeworth finally made eye contact. "Everything is the same as it was before," he said softly. "Really. Just...just leave me alone." He shook free of Nick's hand.

"Edgeworth..." Phoenix let his hand drop dully to his side. "You know...we're friends, right?" _Same_, after all, did not mean _fine_.

Edgeworth shrugged. "You tell me, Wright. Are we?"

"We're friends," Phoenix repeated firmly. "And friends can tell each other anything, even if it's-"

"Just stop it!" Edgeworth snapped. "Look, I get that you're worried, but...I can't be perfect all the time."

Edgeworth was perfect to Phoenix anyway. He swallowed and pressed on. "I...I'm sorry. I was just worried."

Edgeworth nodded stiffly. "You don't have to be. There's nothing wrong." They both knew it was a lie.

Phoenix's throat felt like sandpaper. "Okay...Just remember, you can call me."

Edgeworth raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Oh, jeez. "No-uh, not like that!" Phoenix said desperately. "I was just-"

"Save it, Wright," he replied coolly. "I know what you mean."

"Then you'll-"

"Only if I feel the need. Which, I assure you, won't."

"Uhh...okay." This was turning awkward dangerously rapidly.

Edgeworth gave him a small wave. "I'll be seeing you at my next trial, no doubt."

And then he was gone, leaving Phoenix alone in yet another empty lobby.

It should have been his wake-up call.

**- & & -  
**  
Weeks passed. Phoenix didn't see much of Edgeworth after their conversation, except for when they had a trial together. Even so, it seemed Edgeworth wasn't taking on even half as many cases as he was before, instead preferring to retreat to the silence of his office, or even the safety of his own house. After some time Phoenix realised that he wasn't the only one worrying about Edgeworth; he'd seen the looks that Gumshoe gave the prosecutor. Looks of worry, concern...even fear. The other prosecutors in the district seemed to notice something was wrong as well, though they never said anything allowed. Even Maya was concerned, offering him her collection of Steel Samurai DVDs-only to borrow, of course. Edgeworth would simply laugh weakly and say that _it was fine_, _he was fine, he'd just been feeling under the weather those past few weeks_.

Phoenix didn't believe a word of it.

He supposed that Edgeworth really could be sick; he'd heard rumours of a bug going around the prosecutor's office, but that had been a few months ago, and Edgeworth had been perfectly fine then. But he'd seen the way the prosecutor averted his eyes whenever anyone asked him what was wrong, the way he instinctively clutched at his arms when he was startled or upset, the way his eyes had seemed to lost all of their sharpness and had become dull and unfocused. He'd noticed how thin Edgeworth was getting, the dark circles under his eyes, the sharp, jutting cheekbones, the pale, almost ghostly complexion.

He couldn't afford to wait another day.

Gumshoe seemed to take forever to pick up his phone, and Phoenix sighed in relief when he heard the familiar gravelly tone of the detective's voice.

"Detective Gumshoe, how can I help ya, pal?"

"Gumshoe," Phoenix said, stumbling over his words slightly. "I have a question for you."

"Wait…as in Phoenix Wright? The defense attorney?" Gumshoe sounded confused. "I'm lost, pal."

"Don't be. Listen, is Edgeworth still at the office?"

"…It's seven o'clock in the evening." Gumshoe sounded more than a little incredulous.

"So…"

"So of course he is, pal! You know Mr Edgeworth never leaves his office before nine."

_Figures_.

"Do you think he'll mind if I come over?" he asked, crossing his finger behind his back.

"Why?"

_Crap. _"I need to….drop some case files over to him," he offered lamely. "Urgently. Now."

"Well, pal, I don't know if I can just let you in, there are rules and regulations and official protocol, and I can't afford to get my paycheck cut again-"

"An innocent man's life could be at stake, Gumshoe!" Phoenix mustered up all the sincerity he could. "Do you really want that on your conscience?" _Yep, _he thought, _I'm going to hell._

"…I'm not buying it, pal. You tell me why you wanna visit, and well, I'll see what I can do then."

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed something's up with him."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Gumshoe's voice sounded hushed when he did speak up again. "Listen, pal, I can't really talk about this right now, Mr Edgeworth's been really paranoid these days and listening in on every call near his office and….you know what? You're right, pal. You're right." Phoenix heard a heavy sigh from the other end of the phone. "Look, I've tried asking him a million times over. No dice. He just gives me this sad smile, or a scowl if he's in a bad mood, and I just shut up and ask him some other time."

"Do…do you know what's going on with him?" Phoenix bit his lip and hoped that Gumshoe had managed to get something, _anything_ out of the prosecutor. His heart sunk when Gumshoe answered.

"No clue, pal. He's been this way for a while, you know."

"Yeah…I know." Phoenix's voice hardened. "Listen, I'm gonna call in at Edgeworth's office tomorrow, say, twelve?"

"Uhhh…" Phoenix heard the sound of papers being shuffled around on the other end of the line. "I think he can do twelve…Maybe."

"It'll be fine," Phoenix dismissed. "And listen, Gumshoe…if you learn anything before I come over tomorrow, don't hesitate to tell me, even if it's one in the morning. Please."

"You can count on me, pal!"

Phoenix let out a bitter chuckle. "Why do we always seem to drop everything whenever Edgeworth's in trouble?"

"I dunno, pal. I guess that's just what he does to us. All that he's been through…I mean, it could have been worse for him, but nobody deserves what happened to him as a kid."

Phoenix nodded in agreement. "It must have been hard," he mused, then realised his massive understatement with an embarrassed flush. "I mean, obviously it's hard for anyone to lose their father like that, but it must have been even harder on Edgeworth…he adored his father as a kid."

"And then he moves in with that bastard von Karma. Must have been tough. I'm glad he's dead, pal."

Phoenix did a double-take. "von Karma…..dead? Where was I when this happened?"

"You didn't know, pal?" Gumshoe exclaimed. "He was executed about two months ago. I hear Edgeworth bailed on it and his sister got mad. Well, his adopted sister. Franziska," he clarified, just in case Phoenix hadn't known that either.

He blinked; this put a new…_spin_ on things. "Was it in the news?"

"Oh yeah, pal," the detective replied idly. "I dunno how you missed it. Wait, let me see….he was executed on the 21st of May this year."

"Uh…" The attorney took a quick look at his calendar. "Oh, that explains it-I had a case. When I'm investigating I basically live under a rock. " He shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Still, it must have been huge. How could I have missed it?"

"Well, bringing it up with Mr Edgeworth won't do any good, pal," Gumshoe retorted. "He practically flinches whenever anyone even mentions von Karma's name now. Best to avoid the subject entirely, dont'cha think?"

"Maybe not talking about it is what's doing the damage," the attorney replied slowly, deep in thought. "Maybe he's been bottling up his feelings for so long and that's what's making him act like this."

"Well if he won't let anyone in, then I don't see how we can help, pal," the detective replied sadly. "Listen, I gotta hand in some files and if I don't finish them in in an hour then the Chief will go ballistic…..and I'll get another pay cut." He sighed. "I'll keep you updated, okay? Come on tomorrow, like we planned. Maybe he'll talk to you more than he will to me."

Phoenix nodded, though inside he doubted that Edgeworth would be any more willing to talk to him any more than he was likely to open up to Gumshoe. "Okay, Gumshoe. See you tomorrow." There was an awkward pause before the detective hung up, leaving Phoenix with only the steady beep of the dial tone. He sighed heavily, tossing his phone onto the soft bedspread behind him.

_Tomorrow, _he promised himself. _Tomorrow, I'll stop pretending nothing is wrong. Everything will be fine in the end._

He didn't know who he was trying fool anymore.

* * *

**Wow, I haven't written one of these in a long time. And I keep changing pen names, too. Hopefully I can stick to this one instead of forgetting both my password and email and having to create a new account. Lordy.**

**Anyway, the way I'm gonna update this is….best described as erratic. I'm going to post a chapter of this, then post a oneshot. Then post a chapter of this, then a oneshot, then a chapter, then a oneshot…Basically I'm alternating between the two. From past experience I find that if I treat each chapter of this like a oneshot in a series rather than a new chapter I can get it done a lot quicker, but it needs to feel like a oneshot.**

**Yeah, I know, I'm crazy.**

**Also, I forgot how to do line breaks. Is this it...?**

**Anyway, I'd love feedback, seeing as I haven't written anything in so long I had to practically brush off all the cobwebs from the fanfiction folder on my laptop. Between school exams, dancing and huge Criminal Minds marathons, I haven't had a lot of time this year. (Actually, I don't study for exams or practice my dancing. Criminal Minds was my entire undoing.)**

**Also, what's the difference between **_**practice**_** and **_**practise,**_** and which one would have been appropriate for that context? I've been dying to know all year.**

**I'll be posting a oneshot shortly then, I guess. No idea how long it'll take me. That's the beauty of it though, isn't it? **_**Watch this space!**_


	2. Fight or Flight

**Content warning: This chapter contains self harm and may be triggering. It's the only part of the chapter in italics, so if you don't want to read it, just skip past it. The rest of the chapter is safe. Also mentions self-harm, and has some vague references to boobs. Yep.**

**A/N - There's mood whiplash in this chapter, which I didn't really realise until I read it through to edit it. You have been warned. This fic will be 10-13 chapters altogether, if I've planned it right, but there may be a number of epilogues once I've finished (which I will, I promise!) depending on if I get inspired. Which I may or may not. /sigh**

**Anyway. Enjoy the chapter! (Is enjoy really the right word?)**

* * *

_The knife is in its usual place, as always. There are other things he could use to achieve the same results, but this one…this one is special. This one seems to slice through his skin effortlessly, like a boat gliding on water. He reaches for it, fingers wrapping delicately around the ornate wooden handle. It's been carved beautifully, with a small gemstone fitted into the dark brown wood, near the top. The serrated edge of the blade is just as beautiful to him, even more so when it's stained crimson with his blood._

_He enters the bathroom and carefully places himself on the cold, tiled floor, careful not to cut himself before he's ready. He has to psych himself up for it before his ritual begins. The blade seems to stare at him, almost mockingly. _Go on. Do it. What are you so afraid of? A little pain? A little blood? You're weak, Miles Edgeworth. You're weak, just like your father._ He flinches at that, shutting his eyes tightly and leaning back against the bathroom wall. Sometimes he wonders whether he's doing the right thing. This ritual causes him pain, and his brain says that pain shouldn't be something that he wants. But then the knife seems to sneer at him, and he knows what he has to do._

_A quick inspection of the knife reveals that it's just as sharp as ever. _Good, _a voice inside him smirks_. I want this time to really hurt. Don't you?_ Everything is ready for the beginning of the ritual. _His_ ritual._

_It hurts at first; more than it's ever hurt before. He knows that the pain, the escape, is only temporary, but he wouldn't give it up for anything. He needs this pain. He craves it. He __deserves it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes he's addicted, but he ignores it and focuses instead on creating the little red lined across his wrists and thighs, letting the wounds drip crimson onto the polished white tiled of his bathroom. As his body begins to get used to the pain and the rush of endorphins that come with it, he digs the knife deeper, searching for the answer he's been searching for ever since the day when he became an orphan. _What am I doing here?

_He finally stops, eyeing his handiwork. Some of the thin marks have stopped bleeding, others are still leaking blood, creating a thin red ribbon that winds down his arms and legs. Some of his older scars have opened and have begun to bleed again, but nothing looks like it needs serious attention. He breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the knife, wandering over to the medicine cabinet and fetching some sutures and a needle. He begins to stitch up the worst of them, leaving the others to heal as white, raised scars._

_Miles wonders when he'd let himself slip this far._

* * *

The night had been long over and Phoenix had barely slept a wink. It was 11:30 in the morning, half an hour before he was supposed to meet Edgeworth at his office, and he felt like his brain was running entirely on the coffee and energy drink he'd bought from the store a few minutes ago.

To say it hadn't been the best morning was an understatement.

Phoenix sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he signaled for the bus to pull over with his free hand, replaying the events of the night through his mind. Or rather, the definite lack of events. He hadn't been able to fall asleep at all; instead, the haunted eyes of one Miles Edgeworth kept him awake with concern for his friend all night. Because that's what Edgeworth was, right? A friend? Did Edgeworth consider him a friend? Phoenix hoped that after he'd saved him from the death penalty and unearthed the truth behind his father's murder that Edgeworth at least considered him an acquaintance, at least. Somehow, he thought even that was a little too ambitious.

He wondered if Edgeworth's nightmares had really stopped after the DL-6 trial, or if he'd been lying to make him feel better. It had been too hopeful for both of them to think that fifteen years of self-loathing could be erased in a single trial. Not even a trial-a _day_. One afternoon, where Edgeworth's entire world had been shattered for the second time in his life. _He's stronger than he realises, _Phoenix thought, _but how do I tell him when he won't trust anyone?  
_  
The prosecutor's office looked like a palace compared to the Wright Agency; multi-floored, plush carpet, an _actual_ reception area. Even the janitor's closet was fancy, Phoenix noted. The receptionist obviously recognised the attorney from the news and gave him a curious glance.

"Hi, I'm looking for Miles Edgeworth's office?" he asked the secretary.

She peered at him over the edge of her glasses. "Twelfth floor, room number 1202," she replied primly, fingers neatly pounding the keyboard. "He may be on his lunch break."

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed. "I'll catch him later."

The receptionist-a miss _Donna Prim_, he noted-huffed and flipped her hair. "Good luck," she muttered, resuming her typing. Phoenix headed toward the elevator; there was no way in hell he was climbing up twelve flights of stairs. _God, Edgeworth must be so fit just from going to work,_ he thought, silently horrified at the challenge Edgeworth faced almost every day.

The elevator doors opened with a soft, metallic _ping_, and Phoenix stepped inside without realising who the other passengers were. Blocking his way were Lana Skye and-_the pure, sheer, unadulterated horror_-Franziska von freakin' Karma. Whose chest, Phoenix realised with a shock, had met with his own face.

_But...but how?! Doesn't she live in Europe?! How did my face even end up in her boo_-

"Phoenix Wright." Her voice was icy cold, but perfectly calm. "You have three seconds to remove your rather foolish face from my bosom, or I'll make it look even more foolish than ever."

He whipped his head up, almost colliding with the elevator ceiling. "Oh God...oh God I'm so sorry."

"As you should be. I'll put that little..._misdemeanor_ down to concern over my little brother."

"I can't stay to chat," Lana smirked knowingly. "I'll speak to you later, von Karma."

Franziska nodded stiffly and turned to Phoenix. "He has been acting strangely, hasn't he." No matter how he looked at it, it wasn't a question.

"No." Phoenix ran a hand through his hair and wetted his lips. "I know you just came down, but...ride with me?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "Twelfth floor?" she enquired coolly, her fingers hovering over the button.

"Yeah," he replied, looking down at the ground. To her credit, Franziska von Karma was excellent at keeping her emotions in check.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, you know. You're a fool for even trying," she told him, never once meeting his eye.

"I know." His own answer shocked him somewhat. Deep down, did he really believe Edgeworth was a lost cause?

Franziska huffed and watched the doors ping open to the hallway of the twelfth floor. "Then again, I suppose that if anyone can get through to my little brother, it's you. So you have my blessing." She didn't even look back at him as she strode out of the elevator and down the hallway. "At least, until you foolishly decide to plant your face in between my breasts again."

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared in the elevator, Franziska was gone.

_Did that really just happen?  
_  
Edgeworth's door was closed, as he'd expected. He checked his watch-12.05. Thanks to Franziska and Donna Prim's unhelpful attitude, he was five minutes late. Lateness was one of Edgeworth's most hated pet peeves, he remembered with a gulp. _Great, he's going to bite my head off as soon as I get in there because I'm five minutes later than I said I would be. _

Phoenix knocked cautiously, his knuckles barely making a noise against the polished wood of the door. He rolled his eyes and was about to full-on punch the door to make any sort of noise that Edgeworth would be at least capable of hearing, when suddenly there was a soft "who is it?" from inside that forced Phoenix to morph his fist into an open hand reaching down to grab the door handle.

"It's me."

Silence from the other side of the door.

"Phoenix Wright," he clarified. There was another silent pause, before the quiet shuffling of papers could be faintly heard from inside.

"May I ask why?"

"I misplaced some of my old case files, and I was wondering if you had any copies," Phoenix lied, hoping he sounded sincere. Heck, he'd put _effort_ into this lie, Edgeworth was not going to freaking find a contradiction in his plan _this _time-

"What cases?" Suspicious. Disbelieving.

_A-ha!_

"The Will Powers case!" Phoenix exclaimed, a little too eagerly to be believed. That _couldn't be helped,_ he decided. _I've finally been prepared for Edgeworth!_

"…I see." Edgeworth's tone was flat and unyielding. "Come in, then."

Phoenix fist-pumped eagerly and did a little victory dance before collecting himself and striding into Edgeworth's office, striding in so Edgeworth could see him basking in his celebratory aura…

….and immediately stopped dead, because _ohmygod what had happened to him?_

Edgeworth looked _exhausted. _The dark circles under his eyes had always been present, but now they looked figuratively bruised, instead of just purple. He looked almost emaciated, his cheekbones gaunt and pale. His eyes, normally so sharp and piercing, were dull and lifeless.

Yep, there was definitely something way wrong.

"What do you want, Wright?" Edgeworth muttered tiredly, jolting Phoenix out of his reverie. A hand ran down his face as he clenched his eyes shut and grimaced. "I have the biggest headache right now, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't stick around for too long."

Well, that wasn't sugarcoated. Edgeworth clearly wanted him out of his business. Phoenix wouldn't have any of that; whatever this big secret Edgeworth was, it was clearly beginning to kill him.

"You don't have a transcript for the Will Powers trial, do you?" Phoenix asked tentatively, stepping closer and leaning on a chair in front of his desk. Edgeworth frowned and took out a pair of glasses.

"Maybe," he said, rising heavily from his own, much more comfortable-looking chair. "But certainly not in my office. Fancy a walk down ten flights of stairs to take a trip down to the archives?" he smirked wickedly. Phoenix gulped. _No, I don't fancy hopping down ten flights of stairs, because that will mean I'll have to walk back up those same ten flights of stairs and that just sounds too hard,_ his mind answered.

"Sure," his mouth answered.

Edgeworth seemed surprised, but quickly recovered. "Okay," he sighed, carefully taking a stack of papers off his desk and clutching them to his chest protectively. "I'll take these down there too, seeing as we'll probably be there a while."

"What? Why?"

"Everyone takes special care to lose your case files, should you ever need them," Edgeworth replied, with the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. "Especially me."

"I'm hurt," Phoenix said teasingly. "What would you say if I went and lost all your case files?"

"I would never give you my case files," Edgeworth replied coolly.

"Are you saying that I shouldn't have trusted you with my documents?"

"Maybe."

* * *

The walk to the archives wasn't as long as Phoenix expected, but it was silent. Unbearably, infuriatingly, mind-blowingly silent. Edgeworth seemed determined not to even look at Phoenix, let alone talk to him. He began to wonder if there was just some giant conspiracy today that made him plant his face in Franziska's chest, or turn Edgeworth into a weirdly docile introvert. Not that he wasn't an introvert before, but today, he seemed much more placid and…tired. Tired of talking, of people, of life itself. He eventually decided that the silence couldn't continue at the risk of damaging his sanity, so when they began to descend the flight of stairs leading to the third floor, and struck up a conversation.

"I saw Franziska in the elevator," he said casually, turning his head toward Edgeworth to gauge his friend's reaction.

"I figured you would sooner or later," was all he got in reply, apart from another awkward silence.

"Why's that?" he replied after a second.

Edgeworth merely shrugged noncommittally. "She shows up around here quite often. Usually to annoy me, apparently."

"Isn't that what little sisters are for?" Phoenix replied lightheartedly. Edgeworth smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"How long did you talk to her for?" Edgeworth asked. Phoenix raised his eyebrows-Edgeworth was making small talk? _Just accept it while it lasts, Phoenix._

"Literally about….thirty seconds. I sort of did something embarrassing."

"You _sort of _did something embarrassing or you did something embarrassing?" Edgeworth asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"I'm afraid of what you'll do to me if you find out," he joked weakly, aware of Edgeworth's cool gaze.

"If you insist," the prosecutor sighed, focusing his eyes back in front of him.

By this time they were at the entrance to the archives, the neon green exit sign glowing above their heads. The archives weren't nearly as impressive as the rest of the building; dust seemed to coat every surface in thick layers, and every step they took raised a cloud of dust from the old wooden floor.

"Boy, they didn't put in much effort with this place, did they?" Phoenix swiped a finger through the dust gathering on an old shelf and wasn't surprised to find that it had accumulated its own thick layer.

"The second and third floor were never renovated with the rest of the building," Edgeworth explained, heading deeper into the shelved aisles. "Nobody actually works on these floors anymore, though. Nobody ever goes into the archives either." He gave Phoenix a pointed stare.

"Why not?"

"Because they're responsible with their files."

"Oh."

_Maybe using a lost file as an excuse wasn't such a good idea after all…_

They kept hunting for another five minutes, before Edgeworth practically dove for a box labeled _2016-Miles Edgeworth_. "It should be in here somewhere," he muttered distractedly, flipping through each folder one by one. Phoenix gaped at the number of cases present-there had to be over seventy.

"Did you really take on all these cases last year?" he stammered, feeling somewhat inadequate. He'd only taken on four cases in 2016, once even defending himself. He really needed to promote his name more, he decided.

"2016 was a slow year for me. Usually my average caseload per year is around a hundred," Edgeworth murmured. "Found it. Here-October 16-19, 2016. Any other moderately important documents you've misplaced lately that we can hunt around here for?"

"I think I'm alright. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you a question," Phoenix said, his demeanour turning serious. If Edgeworth noticed, he didn't let on.

"What?" he asked disinterestedly, placing the box back into its place on the shelf.

"I…." Phoenix's mouth dried up as he suddenly realized that no matter how many times he'd planned the conversation in his head, the words would never seem adequate enough. "Are you okay?" he finally blurted. Edgeworth raised his eyebrows.

"I'm perfectly healthy, Wright," he frowned, turning away. "A few months ago I had a flu, but other than that, I've been fine."

"That's not what I meant," Phoenix replied, his voice low.

"Then what did you mean?" Edgeworth turned toward Phoenix with a practiced look of puzzlement-one that Phoenix didn't usually see on the prosecutor's face. _He knows what I mean, he's just avoiding the question._

"You…you haven't seemed yourself lately," Phoenix tried, eventually finding the courage to look Edgeworth dead in the eyes. Edgeworth flinched and turned away abruptly, rifling through a random box of files at breakneck speed.

"What are you talking about?" he scoffed, though Phoenix could see it was strained. "I'm fine, really."

"Really?" Phoenix countered, growing bolder now he knew his suspicions were at least partly correct. "You could've fooled me."

Suddenly, Edgeworth whirled around and threw the files to the floor. "What is it you want from me?" he hissed, his voice dangerously quiet. "You want me to lie and say I'm drinking, binging, cutting, whatever-just so you can _once again _be right?"

"I…Edgeworth…" Phoenix stammered. This was not what he'd been expecting. "This isn't like you."

"Oh, really?" Edgeworth sneered. "Then I suppose, _Phoenix_," he scoffed, pronouncing the name like it was poison, "that you don't know me at all."

"I'm sorry…" Phoenix stammered, unsure of what to do, or even say, next. The Edgeworth he knew would get annoyed, but never…never like _this_.

"I'm sure you're sincere," Edgeworth laughed humorlessly. "Seeing as you win every single one of your damn cases, everyone loves you, you've got that Maya girl practically crawling all over you-"

"That's not what's going on!" Phoenix snapped, finally losing it. _Edgeworth wants to play it hard? Fine. I'll give as hard as I get._ "I wouldn't even dream of doing…._that_ with Maya! She's practically like a sister! And you know what? Not everybody loves me like you think, not like with you, with all the higher ups pretty much throwing themselves at your feet to get on your good side-"

"Just what are you implying?" Edgeworth's voice was icy cold. Emotionless. Unrevealing.

"You can't work it out for yourself?" Phoenix chuckled bitterly. "Maybe you're not as smart and cultured as you think you are."

"I _never_ knowingly forged evidence," Edgeworth snarled through his teeth.

"That's what you let everyone believe," Phoenix shrugged. "You sure have a lot of connections you could use to cover certain things up."

"I don't abuse my power, Wright, I never have-"

"Why won't you just _admit_ you need help?!" Phoenix fumed. "It's obvious from the way you're acting that something's not right, just let me help and I promise, I can fix it-"

"Right. Because you can fix everything, I'm sure."

"If you'd just let me help-"

"I don't _want_ your help! I _never_ wanted your help! I never wanted _anybody's_ help, why is that so _goddamn_ hard to understand for you?!" Edgeworth shrieked, pulling something from his back pocket and brandishing it high in the air. It took Phoenix a few minutes before he realized what it was-the glinting silver blade, the sleek wooden handle, the frenzied look in Edgeworth's eye-and his eyes widened.

"Woah, calm down!" Phoenix yelped, backing away from the knife slowly. "I…I never meant to hurt you, I'm just concerned-"

"You don't have to be," Edgeworth said flatly, his voice worryingly toneless. "Just get out."

"I…I'm sorry…" It was only then that Phoenix noticed the way that Edgeworth's shirt sleeve had ridden up over his wrist, his wrist that was currently exposed to the air, his wrist that was covered with a myriad of harsh, horizontal lines-_scars_-some criss-crossing, some straight, others healed white, others red and ugly against the pale white of Edgeworth's skin, the red stains on the blade and handle of the knife…

…and suddenly, all the pieces seemed to fall exactly into place, and Phoenix knew with certainty what was wrong.

"Edgeworth…how long have you been hurting yourself?" he asked quietly, still terrified that Edgeworth's tenuous control on the situation would suddenly be lost.

"Get out."

"I-"

"_Get out!_" Edgeworth all but screamed, the knife jerking in his hand. Phoenix stumbled away and cast a betrayed look at him, before scampering out of the archives room, desperate to get away from the man he'd once thought of as a friend.

Unbeknownst to Phoenix, Edgeworth pocketed the knife, sank down to his knees, and started to cry.

* * *

**Well, I finally got the second chapter done. The third chapter is well on its way, too. Just as a side note, there will be a case and some OCs in this fic, but it'll only take up about a chapter and won't feel too forced (if I do it right).**

**I'd really like feedback writing this chapter, as it was the first time I'd ever written anything like this before, and I wasn't really sure I could even pull it off. I like to think that I tried my best. Also, if you see typos, point them out, because I'm my own beta and I tend to skim read, and I'd like to make reading this less uncomfortable for any grammar Nazis out there.**

**Next will either be a oneshot, or another chapter of **_**Relatively Pointless**_**. Probably the oneshot, seeing as I have a half-finished one somewhere in the depths of my computer that I'd like to finish someday. But I will finish **_**Relatively Pointless**_**. Someday. Probably in the far future, to be honest. Oops.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	3. Demons

**Content warning: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, sexual undertones.**

**A/N: The case starts here, so an OC or two pop up in this chapter. Also, you should know that each chapter does not represent one day. The timeline doesn't flashback at any point, but it probably will skip days at a time at some points. You'll probably have to use logic to work out the timeline, as I will not spell it out for you. Unless I get reviews telling me to, in which case I'll post a timeline for the chapter in the beginning author's note.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Dakota Hunt shivered as she checked her phone for the umpteenth time, frowning when she saw no message from Adam. _Just what is he playing at? _she wondered, scowling ever so slightly. She _thought _that after she and Adam got back together her life would start getting better, but apparently everyone was determined to screw her over no matter how hard she tried. Her thumb hovered over the call option before putting her phone into sleep mode. _He'll pick me up at some point. Someday._

Dakota shivered and crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to keep as much warmth as possible. She'd aimed to leave the party at ten o'clock, but she'd gotten "slightly" drunk and she'd only realised that she had work that day at one in the morning. Her boyfriend Adam's shift finished at one-thirty, so she'd called and asked him to pick her up and drop her back home. _Just like he had back in high school, _she thought bitterly_. Stop. Don't go there. Think happy thoughts, Dakota. Happy thoughts!_

She shivered even more as she thought back to the party back in sophomore year, the looks she'd gotten after it, the feeling of loneliness and helplessness that she'd never managed to shake off. It would be the anniversary next week, she realised with a start. Eight years since the incident with her sister, Kurt Hadry, and heck, half the boys from her year at high school_. Don't think about it_, her sister had urged her as she'd sat up with her at night, letting Dakota sob and wail into her shoulder as she patched up the fresh cuts on her wrists and thighs, ankles and stomach. _In a few years, all this will be just a memory._

_Great advice, sis, _Dakota sneered, absently picking at her wrists through the thin fabric of her jacket. _It's been eight years and the memories still haven't gone away. You were there for me after it had happened. Where were you before?_

A trashcan was knocked over with a resounding thud behind her and Dakota whipped around, breath hitching. The lid of the garbage can slowly rolled toward her, before stopping right at her feet. Once more it was silent, and Dakota shifted her gaze back toward the road. "Come on," she whisper-groaned, shaking her phone in the hopes that Adam would magically feel her frustration through the phone and come whizzing to her aid.

It was when another trashcan was knocked over that Dakota realised she was in trouble.

"Hello?" she called out shakily, gulping when there was no reply. "Anyone there?"

Silence, but for a dog barking in the distance.

Then, a pained groan.

"Hello?" she called out again, trying to keep her voice steady. "D-does anyone need help?"

Another pained groan, followed by a cough. "Over here…"

The voice came from behind the collection of trash cans that had been knocked over, and a hand slowly emerged. Dakota hurried over, peering over the cans to get a good look at the man. He was homeless, she figured-with tattered clothes smelling of cigarettes and cheap booze. He looked dirty, his face hidden beneath a worn cap and unruly blonde hair.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," he chuckled darkly, and it was only then did Dakota realise who he was.

"Y-you…" she stammered, backing away as he stood up before her. "What…what happened to you?"

"I got fired from my job," he said smoothly, taking a few steps toward her, still wearing that damn smug grin. "Actually, my life has been pretty shit ever since senior year."

"W-why?"

The man stifled his laughter. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. Oh wait, you got so drunk that could barely even remember your own damn name, let alone the golden rule of party-dom."

"I was seventeen," she defended herself hotly, still backing away. "You can't blame me for what my sister did."

"Oh, can't I? I believe I'm doing it right now. But you deserve so much more than just a talking-to, my lady…" he smirked, manhandling Dakota into the dark alley. "So much more…"

* * *

Dakota Hunt's body was found at eight-thirty the next morning, a credit card belonging to one Adam Elppa found stuffed down her throat.

* * *

Phoenix would never really get used to seeing little Pearls, not even ten years old, channeling her older cousin the busty Mia F

ey-and he'd never get used to seeing..._those_ on her chest.

"Phoenix." Mia's tone was warm and pleasant, not at all worried that her former protege was staring rather obviously at her half-uncovered chest. "It's good to see your _face _again."

Oh. Maybe she had noticed after all. Mia Fey was a master of spirit channeling _and_ subtlety, it seemed.

Phoenix finally brought his eyes back up to her face, a smile stretching his mouth. "It's great to see you too."

Mia took her hair out of Pearl's signature pretzel bow. "Why does Pearl insist on wearing her hair this way? Too hard to maintain." She paused. "Good or bad news?"

Phoenix blinked. "Huh?"

"You've either got news, or you need advice. That's why you called on me, right?"

Phoenix nodded slowly. "It's Edgeworth," he said quietly, knowing Maya was likely listening outside.

Mia's face creased into a frown. "Tell me."

And so Phoenix relayed the details of what he'd seen the previous day to his former mentor, watching her expressions change from confusion to concern, fear to horror.

"He threatened you with a _knife_?" she asked disbelievingly, leaning forward.

"I doubt he'd do anything with it," Phoenix explained, "but he sure looked angry enough. And...he looked afraid too."

"He obviously felt threatened enough to pull a knife on you," Mia observed, biting her lip in thought.

"So...what do I do?" Phoenix asked. Mia blinked, her lips curling up slightly in amusement.

"Why are you asking me?"

"You're...you're dead! Wise! All-knowing! ...Right?" Phoenix floundered.

Mia chuckled darkly. "Even the dead don't know all the answers."

And to that, Phoenix had nothing to say.

Mia sighed and drew a hand over her face. "Look...I've never dealt with this kind of situation before, I'm by no means an expert. But I do have one piece of advice."

"Which is?" Phoenix asked eagerly, almost desperately.

"What would you want if you were in Edgeworth's situation?"

Phoenix reflected. "...For someone to listen to me, without judgment. To still like me for who I was. To be able to trust them with my secret. To...not push me into telling them anything I don't want to." He winced at the last one, shame washing over him. "Crap."

Mia smiled knowingly. "Tell me, Phoenix...how long have you been in love with him?"

For a second Phoenix thought he'd misheard her. What did she just say? _In rough_? _Above? _But certainly not in love...right?

"E-excuse me?" he stammered, immediately flushing. _Damn you, rosy cheeks! Why must you be so famously unreliable?  
_  
Mia simply chuckled and flipped her hair back. "Really, it's not like it wasn't obvious. I'm sure even Pearl has noticed by now."

"...I think she's still sold on the idea that Maya and I are meant to be..." the attorney muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Still though, that obvious?"

"That obvious," Mia confirmed with a grim nod of her head. "I don't think Edgeworth would know, though. He's kind of oblivious to these things, wouldn't you say?"

"Very," Phoenix agreed. "I...I haven't exactly been a great friend to him."

"You haven't," Mia said flatly. "But you can't forget that everything you did, you did it out of concern. Not scorn. Not pity. Pure concern."

"He doesn't see it that way, though," he argued. "And J don't see how he could."

"I don't know if that's true." Mia smirked and sat back, crossing her arms. "You do need to go apologise, as does he. Threatening you with a knife is inexcusable. But don't be afraid to tell him what you feel."

Phoenix paused before replying. "What if he doesn't forgive me?" His voice was so small, so hoarse that he didn't think Mia had heard him until she placed a hand over his.

"Then you just keep on trying." She smiled sadly, straightening up. "Pearl must be getting tired. I think it's about time I re-joined the choir invisible."

Phoenix nodded dully, his mouth dry. "Talk again later?" he whispered, wetting his cracked lips.

Mia smiled. "Most definitely."

* * *

Maya tried to remain casual as Phoenix sauntered outside with a tired Pearl hanging off his arm, but failed. Miserably. A slight blush tinted her cheeks, and she almost refused to meet his eye.

Almost.

"Mister Nick, what did you talk to Mystic Mia about?" Pearls asked, eyes wide and curious. Phoenix gulped and was just about to make up a lame excuse that he was sure even Pearls wouldn't buy, but then Maya, always his saviour, butted in at just the right time.

"Pearly, you look tired!" she exclaimed, fake-yawning right in front of her young cousin's face. As if on cue, Pearl yawned too, and Maya's eyes lit up. "Look at you, you're yawning! You must be tired. To bed!"

"But Mystic Molly told me that actually yawns are catchi-"

"Bed!" Maya insisted. Pearl shot her cousin a confused look before scooting out of the room and presumably into bed.

"...So how much did you here?" Phoenix asked with a pained expression.

"Everything...?" she smile sheepishly. "Truth be told, it was kinda obvious. The way you act around him, the way you talk about him, the way you dedicated your _entire freakin' career _to save him..."

"I get it!" He held his hands up in defeat. _Geez, how many people figured it out already anyway?!_

"I think everyone except Pearl figured it out," Maya smiled.

_There goes that mind-reading trick of hers again...or can everyone except me do that?  
_  
"I need to go back to the city," Phoenix sighed, walking to the entrance gates with Maya. "I'll call you?"

"I get it, Nick. Edgeworth needs you." Maya's expression softened, her gaze fixed on the streetlights illuminating the train tracks.

Phoenix had tried his best not to totally abandon Maya after she'd announced she was moving back permanently to Kurain, which proved extremely difficult under the circumstances. Kurain Village was over two hours away by train, and those only ran twice a day anyway. There was no internet anywhere in Kurain, and the only means of contacting anyone there was to either send a letter or a carrier pigeon. At first Maya had called every night from the payphone across the train tracks and asked him how things were, how everyone was doing, if he was still practically undefeated in court. Phoenix would smile and laugh, cherishing the time with Maya he still had left, because he knew that over time, the calls would come less and less frequently until they eventually stopped altogether.

And he was right. Maya's calls eventually lessened from one a day, to one a week, to once a month, if he was lucky. Every time she called after that she apologized about not calling, and Phoenix would smile sadly and tell her not worry, he knew her workload was massive, he understood. And he did understand. He didn't want to lose any of his friends to poor communication, not Maya, not Edgeworth.

He'd already lost contact with Edgeworth once, and he damn well didn't want to lose him again.

* * *

Edgeworth's morning had been horrendous, to say the least. He slept in, spilt his tea, arrived to work late, found a truckload of new cases and consults waiting for him on his desk, his secretary had scheduled a meeting during his lunch break, and he'd only now realised the huge trouble he was in.

He'd threatened Phoenix. With a _knife_. _When Phoenix was only trying to help_. God, what kind of an awful human being was he if he could turn on his friends like that in less than a second? Phoenix could press charges if he wanted. That was the last thing he needed.

Perhaps he deserved it.

No. He deserved a lot worse than simply going to prison. He deserved death.

He'd thought about suicide before-more than once in his lifetime. Once when he was eleven, he'd managed to get his hands on a bottle of pills, but he was too scared of what von Karma would do to him if it didn't work out. The pills had remained in a cabinet beside his bed, just in case he really did ever need a way out. Just in case, he told himself. Just in case I'm finally brave enough.

He never was.

The second time was immediately after von Karma was led away in chains after Edgeworth's own trial, screaming death threats and insults at him that shook him to the core. On the outside, he kept his stoic façade going perfectly, quietly standing at the witness stand and looking down at his fidgeting hands until the noise faded to the bare minimum. On the inside, however, he felt like ripping his hair out, punching someone, punching himself, wanting to see himself bleed just to feel something that felt like it could validate his feelings of betrayal, hurt, and anger. He considered running away up the stairs to the courthouse roof and simply throwing himself off it at that point, but he instead waited for the judge to declare his innocence. That night was the night he'd relapsed, scarring a myriad of clean cuts up his thighs. He'd never be able to completely shake the memories of the sweet release, the feeling of validation, and the satisfaction of seeing himself hurt and bleeding. In those moments when the blood was running down his arms, stomach, and legs…they were the only moments that ever mattered. He told himself he wasn't addicted, even after he'd begun to take up smoking simply because he could use the cigarettes to burn himself if he wanted. He'd never even gave it thought, really; it constantly sat at the back of his mind, but it had simply become a part of his daily routine. A completely normal, everyday ritual. If he missed a day, he'd try and make up for it by cutting himself in twice as many places as usual until his skin stopped burning, itching, writhing. If he couldn't harm himself for more than two days, he simply stopped eating until he could, relishing the feeling of his stomach twisting painfully, even when if made him double over in pain. One time he'd even fainted-at school camp, where it was too hard to explain how he'd gotten so many cuts and bruises from 'falling into a thorn bush' or 'tripping over a rock walking down a track'. Not that anyone at school had ever paid attention from him, unless it was to copy his homework or steal his lunch money. He'd always been the model student, even when he was starving, his wrists were itching, and the depression made his tears drip onto his test papers.

Edgeworth let his head drop down onto his desk. I need a break.

He was just about to push himself away from his desk and grab his lunch when a knock on his door stopped him. "Swiggity swore, I'm at your door!" a voice shouted.

Edgeworth stopped in his tracks. "Larry?" he asked, breathing in deeply. "How may I help you!"

"I have a favour," came the reply. "So can I come in or what?"

"It's open," he called, pulling his sleeves tightly around his wrists and watching Larry stride in the door.

"So, Edgeworth, how have things been?" he winked, sitting on the edge of Edgeworth's desk.

"Get to the point, Butz," Edgeworth growled, giving him a little shove. "And get off my desk, if you please."

"You don't like the Butz sitting on your desk?" Larry feigned mock hurt as he hopped off.

"I don't like any butt on my desk," Edgeworth replied, straightening out his papers. "I will permit elbows."

"Excellent!" Larry exclaimed, immediately slouching onto the desk. "So, like I said, I have a favour."

"This can't be good," Edgeworth muttered, closing his eyes and sighing. "What favour could this be?"

"A case for you to prosecute?"

"I don't just pick what cases I prosecute," Edgeworth replied, irritated. "I get assigned by the Chief Prosecutor. Honestly, do you have any idea how the law systen here works?"

"Nobody has any idea how the legal system works," Larry shrugged. "Not even the people who made it up! But seriously, you have a lot of pull in the system, you could always just…suggest something to the Chief, and he could-"

"First of all, that's grossly illegal. Secondly, the Chief is a she."

"Ooh, a girl chief?" Larry's eyes lit up. "Kinky, man! So while you're suggesting you take on this case of mine, you could also suggest that you know a dashing, handsome young man who's currently single and looking for good-looking ladies with authority in be-"

"No, Larry."

"…Alright. Here me out about the case, though?"

I admit, I kind of owe him after he saved me with his testimony at my trial…

"…Maybe. What case?" Edgeworth asked, trying to appear disinterested.

"Sweet! You'll really do it?" Larry exclaimed. "Thanks, man!"

"Maybe," he warned, brushing some papers aside so he rest his arms on the desk. "I need to know some details first."

"It's…it's a sister of a friend of mine," Larry said, looking solemn for what was possibly the first time in his life. "She was murdered last night…well, early this morning. She had her boyfriend's credit card lodged in her throat."

Edgeworth grimaced. "And you think the boyfriend did it?"

"He's been arrested on probable cause," Larry nodded. "I want someone to get to the truth, and I knew how big you are on truth, so…"

Edgeworth nodded. "The suspect's name?" he asked curtly.

"Adam Elppa," Larry answered, passing Edgeworth a photo of a man and a woman, smiling happily into the camera, arms around each other's shoulders.

"Is this girl in the photo the victim?"

"Dakota Hunt."

Edgeworth stared at the photo for a few more moments, eyeing Dakota's haunted eyes and the raised white scars littering her wrists. After a moment, he responded. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

**So this is where the story starts picking up, with the arrival of the case and a small handful of necessary OCs. Adam Elppa's name is a pun on Adam's Apple, and also with the whole "give the teacher an apple" thing.**

**Also, sorry for switching the POV in the chapter so many times, but I couldn't find a way to work around it…sorry. xD**

**Thank you for reading!**


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